The Warped & Wicked Gym Coach Ch. 06

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Ms. Bandy prepares Jake for the Finals; Holly says hello.
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Part 6 of the 7 part series

Updated 06/08/2023
Created 10/04/2017
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Holly sat motionless in his passenger seat, looking straight ahead. "Oh," was all she said. Her eyes filled with tears. Jake looked at the floor of his truck, staring at a dirty receipt in the corner behind the gas pedal. Snow fell on the windshield, making it darker and darker inside the cab.

"I'm so sorry, Holly, I just . . . can't concentrate on anything else but basketball. I can't handle this, not now. I -- I had a great time over Christmas, I really did --" he said earnestly, deeply wishing he wasn't doing this.

"It's -- it's okay," she sniffed. "I get it. We weren't supposed to be dating anyway." At this she began to cry. He hesitated, then put his hand on her shoulder. "No, I'm fine," she said, brushing his hand away. "I gotta go."

"Bye, Holly," he spoke in a soft voice. "I'll see you tomorrow?" She nodded, and left the car. He remained there sinking in his chair, for a moment, and then started the truck again, pulling away from her house, thinking the winter snow would bury him and the world would swallow him whole.

The world did not end that day, however, and winter went on. He focused all of his energy on basketball. The Franklin Academy entered the postseason with a one-loss record, and continued their dominant streak, led by their star captain, Jacob Packert. The whole team was playing at their top level, like "a well-oiled machine," according to Coach Mullinax, as quoted in the Clarksburg Post. But anyone who watched a game knew that Jacob made his team better just by stepping on the court. They massacred the Flemington Prep Tigers in the first round, and handily beat the Fayetteville Day School 65-60 in the semis, in a game that was not as close as the score suggested. They were on course for a final match-up with Charleston Catholic, to be held in the University of West Virginia basketball stadium in Morgantown, holding a capacity of fourteen thousand fans.

Ms. Bandy had traveled with the team, acting as an equipment manager, as well as personal coach to Jake in the evenings before the games. Two hours before tip-off, they would escape to her hotel room. Before the first round, she had blindfolded him again, and made him lick her clitoris while she gave him a blow job; on the day of the semi-final, she hog-tied him in plastic cuffs and milked his prostate. Each session had its own flavor, its own vibration, but the themes maintained: she stripped him, manhandled him, hurt him, and brought him to orgasm, while she remained clothed -- sometimes provocatively, other times not -- and in full control. He still enjoyed the attention, but the lack of total fulfillment was maddening, like a rat gnawing away at his guts. He wanted more. Jake reasoned that if he were successful, she would love him, and give him what he needed. Finally having sex with her became his life's sole compulsion, and winning the finals was now a means to an end.

The team drove to Morgantown in a fancy bus and stayed at a Holiday Inn near the university on the Friday before the big game. Half of the school had come as well; everyone had jumped aboard the bandwagon, and the whole of Franklin reveled in the winning spirit that basketball had brought them. Jake was rooming with Will Wilson, who had befriended him, despite their personality differences. "Hey, you want some pop? I'm gonna get a can of Coke," Jake offered his roommate.

"Sure, man. Get me a Sprite," Will answered from his bed, flipping through channels on the television. Jake took his wallet and stepped out of the room; coming down the hall was Holly Morgan.

"Oh, hey," Jake said, giving her a little wave.

"Hi, Jake," Holly replied. She looked beautiful: her hair fell down around her shoulders, a simple white tank top accentuated her heavy breasts, and tight jeans hugged her solid thighs and hips. She was wearing an earthy red hue of lipstick, which she normally didn't use but which suited her. His heart fluttered as she smiled kindly with her blue eyes shining happily.

"I'm glad you came," he said, and he meant it. He had missed her, and the fun they had had together. He missed the look in her eye as he came off the court victorious. He even missed her innocent kisses and demure protestations. Seeing her here, looking so pretty, immediately transported him to the day he sat in the truck, watching the snow fall as he broke her heart.

"You bet," she smiled. "You better come and see me play tennis when all this is over. You're not the only one having a good year, you know."

Jake laughed. He imagined her in a tennis top and a short white skirt, her sexy legs and arms sweating from the heat . . . "Wouldn't miss it," he smiled back. "Listen, I'm getting me and Will some pop . . ."

"Yeah, I'm on my way to Michelle Mueller's room anyway. See you tomorrow!" she said, as she took a few steps, before stopping again, and turning around. "Hey . . . Jake . . ."

"Yeah?"

"Good luck," she told him.

"Thanks," he said and blinked. She smiled one more time, and walked away.

***

Jake knocked on Room 2447. Ms. Bandy -- Trish, he called her now -- opened the door in a white terry cloth bathrobe. "Hey you," she cooed and grabbed him by the shirt. She led him over to her queen-sized bed, clutching his t-shirt, and pushed him onto the covers. Unlacing his left shoe, then his right, she took them and his socks off; she loosened his jeans, lowered his zipper, and tugged at the legs until they fell to the floor. Trish took his hands, and pulled him up to seated; then she took the sleeves of his sweatshirt and pulled until both it and his undershirt came off, mussing his hair. With her palm on his chest, she shoved him back onto the bed.

She opened her bathrobe up, wearing only a black lace bra and panty set, sheer yet not quite see-through, and let it drop to the carpet; then, straddling him, the softness between her legs pressed up against his erect member, pushing precum out of his tip. "How does it feel to be so close to everything you ever wanted?" she asked, while grabbing his wrists, holding them against the mattress over his head as she rocked forward and backward, sliding his cock between her lips, underwear on underwear.

"I want it," he panted. "I want it so bad."

"It's coming, Jake. Everything," Trish grunted, dry humping him faster. She leaned down, licking his face, sucking his right ear. She sat up, still grinding into his dick, pinching both of his nipples in her fingers. "You're gonna be a star, baby."

"That's not all I want," he said as he grabbed her by the sides. He flipped her onto her back, her hair tossed onto her face. She looked bewildered and savage. He cradled her in his arms, slipping between her warm, firm thighs. Surprised, she tittered nervously. "I want you."

She reached down into his shorts. "I know, sweetie," she said as she began to stroke him. "But that's not what this is . . . I'm still your teacher." She gripped his cock, taking it out, and rubbing it against her crotch. "Oh, but I love the way your cock feels on my clit, Jake . . . oh . . ." Jake, feeling bolder than ever before, reached over and touched the front of her bra, rubbing it through the lace, eliciting a moan from Ms. Trisha Bandy. He held it and felt the weight of her breast in the palm of his hand, and he decided right then and there that it was the single best thing in the entire world.

"I'm your teacher, baby," she repeated, brushing his hand away. "You can't touch my boobies!" She pretended to appear shocked and offended as his hand returned, squeezing her. She pulled away, lowering herself, and removed his shorts, flinging them idly over her shoulder.

"I want you so bad," Jake growled, grabbing her ass with his other hand, pulling her into him. His hand slid into her crack, feeling the heat radiating from her. He kissed her on the mouth, on the neck, licking her shoulder, and sucking on her earlobe. "Put it in you."

"What are you saying, Jake?" she continued her farce of outrage and indignation, as she jerked his cock harder.

"I want to put it inside your pussy."

"Put what? What, Jake?"

"My cock."

"Why? Why would you want to do that?"

"I want to fuck you, Trish. I want to fuck you right now."

"No," she mouthed. "No, I won't let you."

"Please," he begged. "I have to. I need to."

"No, baby," she teased. "You can't have that. You can't ever fuck me, 'kay? I don't want you to." She jerked him harder. "You're gonna come in my hand, yeah? Yeah, you are. I can see it in your eyes." He could feel it rising up inside of him. "Come for me, virgin."

Angry, he gripped her harder with his abnormally large hands, feeling her tiny, near-naked body inside of his long arms. He pushed himself on top of her, her legs spreading wide, and he pressed upon her as he looked her in the face with mildly suppressed rage. She gasped. "Jake, you're hurting me! What are you trying to do to me, with your big, strong body?" Her eyes went big and her mouth opened wider. "Oh no, you want to make me fuck you, don't you? Oh my gosh, Jake, you do! You want to violate me!" She was working his cock as hard as she could.

He was aghast. "No! I -- I just want . . . I want to be with you! On you, in you," Jake gushed, passion having its way with his words. She rolled him onto his back. "I want you, oh god, I want you so . . . so . . . oh shit . . ."

He tried to hold it in; he wanted to keep going, to put it inside of her, for her to be his first and only lover. He couldn't.

"Oooo, there it is," Trish Bandy oozed. She kept pumping her fist, extracting every drop of cum out of him, onto his torso and abs. He collapsed onto the bed, sated temporarily but more frustrated than ever, the rat still gnawing away. "That one was hot . . . Ooo, yeah, I dug that one. You got me so wet, look!" Her panties were damp and stained with juice. "I'm glad we went out with a bang."

It took a moment for her words to sink in. He lifted his head. "What does that mean?"

"Tonight's the state championship, Jake," she said as she got up, fixing her bra, and pulling back her hair.

"Yeah? And?" he asked nervously. He had a dreadful premonition, like he was waking up from a beautiful dream.

"So we don't need to do this any more," she beamed, kissing him on the cheek. "Last time."

"But, we want to do this," he replied. Trish laughed.

"Aw, Jake, you're so sweet. I know you want this to go on forever. But you still don't see the big picture. This was a way to help you get past all the stuff that was blocking you, so you could take this team all the way to the top. And you did! And you'll win tonight, and you'll get into a big school, and the Franklin Academy will shine as one of the top programs in West Virginia. Gosh, you're gonna make Athletic Director Tomlinson so happy, I just know it!"

"What are you saying?" he said, sitting up, choking on his words. Who gave a fuck about Old Man Tomlinson?

"That this was a . . . transaction," she said, landing upon the final word after some deliberation. "Like, a deal we had. I meant what I said: I'm your teacher, Jake. I'm not your girlfriend."

"A -- a transaction?" He sprung up. "We're -- I mean -- I -- I thought -- " he didn't know where to begin. "What the fuck, Trish!"

"Jake," she calmly spoke, "Please put your pants on. It embarrasses me when it's shrunken." He looked down, and his face went red again. It was shriveled and drooling. He looked around and couldn't find his pants. He felt a deep stomach ache growing.

"Behind the bed," she looked up and snickered. His face was beet red. He found his boxers and struggled to get them on; acting frantically, he put on a shoe and then a sock, then grabbed his jeans and put them on the bed. He went to don his shirt when she stopped him.

"Jake, Jake, relax," she said, handing him a towel. "You're a mess. Go take a shower before you put that on, or else it'll stick to you." He took the towel. "And Jake? Let's go back to calling me Ms. Bandy, okay?" she said thoughtfully, and she went over to the desk. He stood there, numb. "There's a shower in the bathroom," she called out.

He cried in the shower.

When he came back, his clothes were laid out on the bed. Trish -- Ms. Bandy -- was fully dressed in tight jeans and a gray winter jacket, putting her earrings on in the mirror; she walked over to him and took his hands in hers. "I know you're upset right now, but I need to tell you something."

"Sure," he responded hopefully.

"We say nothing about this to no one, right? I mean, I'll get fired, and you'll get expelled. This is not what either of us wants, agreed?" She looked happy and fun again.

His face darkened. "I hate you right now. I hate you so much," he sniffled. He suddenly thought of Holly.

"Nothing. To no one," she repeated. "Promise me." She stood on her toes, and kissed his lips. Electricity singed his mouth, shot tendrils into his face and chest, simmering into a frenzy of kinetic energy all over his body. His heart was filled with sadness.

"I promise," he said coldly. She wrinkled her nose at him.

"That's my big, strong boy," she said. "You're the best. You really, really are." With a mischievous smirk, she opened his towel and dropped it off of him. "Just one last good-bye . . . I'm gonna miss him!" She caressed his soft penis briefly, and blew it a kiss. Then she looked up and smiled. "You'll forgive me one day."

***

The championship game was a close one, one of the closest in recent history. Franklin had a terrible start; Jake missed the first five shots he took, and he turned the ball over twice. It almost seemed as if he had lost the will to win.

Worse, his mistakes seemed to infect the whole team -- Will Wilson couldn't hit a thing, and Mark Staats, their center, struggled from the line. Thankfully, Kevin Turner kept them in the game with a solid performance, but they still trailed the Eagles 35-25.

Coach Mullinax read them the riot act at halftime; Jake sat there, listening, still thinking of the last words she said to him. Fuck her, he thought. I'll never forgive her. Never.

He stood up in the middle of the coach's speech. "Fuck them!" he yelled, punching a nearby looker with the bottom of his first. Everyone froze. They had never heard him curse before. "Fuck 'em all! We -- we are here for one reason and one reason only: to win. And these guys? They are only in our fucking way!" He threw a bottle of Gatorade against the far wall. Coach Mullinax stood where he was, looking dumbfounded.

"We're better than this! Will, you're ten times better than number twelve out there! Why the fuck is he taking you to the hole every goddamn time? Staats? You're getting posted up like a bitch by that guy. Step up! Ripley, Turner . . . Hell, me! We're all better than they are! We're gonna win this, and we are gonna shove that ball in their fucking throats and punch them in the goddamn nuts!"

"Yeah!" Kevin Turner hollered, and the whole team exploded in a kind of prehistoric fury.

A different team came out of the locker room. The Franklin Academy Blue Devils tied the game, leading to overtime. The two teams battled, the leads changing five times, before they tied once again with one minute left. Jake called for the ball -- he took it to the top of the key slowly, holding possession until a two-man trap came up. He bounce-passed to Turner, who sent it into the corner where Ripley stood. The defender picked him up. Ripley threw it around the guy to his center Staats. Twenty-five seconds on the clock clicked down to twenty-four. Staats passed it once again to Jake, who had stayed at the top of the circle, a good two feet behind the three-point line. The moment he touched the ball, he launched it over the extended arm of the Charleston Catholic Eagle guarding him. The ball rainbowed into the basket. Three points, eighteen seconds on the clock. The Franklin crowd exploded. They hollered and clapped; girls shrieked and called out Jake's name. Charleston Catholic called timeout.

Jake huddled with his team but heard nothing. He searched the crowd for Ms. Bandy's face; instead his eye caught Holly looking at him. She smiled, raised both hands, and whooped like a wild woman. We're gonna win, he thought. And I'm gonna fuck her.

After the timeout, the Eagles' star point guard was inbounding, throwing from the side; Jake knew exactly what to do. He hung back, and watched the guard pass it to the power forward in the backcourt. Jake immediately started running toward the point guard. The forward robotically passed it back, not seeing that Jake was coming. It was too late; Jake stole the pass and ran as fast as he could toward the basket, laying it up as the clock struck triple zeros.

The fans charged the court; controlled mayhem ensued. People Jake didn't know were hugging him, rubbing his back, jumping all around. His parents reached where he was through all the students, and they hugged them with all their might. As he embraced his mother, he saw Ms. Bandy, still in the stands. She smiled broadly and proudly at him, and gave him a thumbs up and a wink. He shut his eyes, and hugged his mother even tighter.

***

Springtime in Appalachia was the most beautiful time of year. The grass smelled fresh, the animals were out in droves, the sun was high, and the air was crisp and light. And it was during the peak of this spring, on a Friday afternoon, that Holly Morgan was emptying out her locker when Jake Packert happened by.

"Holly, what's up?" Jake greeted her. He was wearing a dark blue WVU cap and street clothes, looking tanned and healthy. He had planned on approaching her after the big game, but she had disappeared from the celebration. After that, he lost his nerve. Seeing her everyday in class, knowing she had moved on without him just fine, he had felt that he had blown it with her, that it was too late. But here, on the last day of school, he knew he only had one chance left to make it right.

"Hey there," she replied. "We made it! Can you believe it's finally over?"

"Yes, I can," he smiled. "You on your way to tennis practice?" he asked. She pointed to her tennis racket bag on her shoulder.

"Duh," he joked. She laughed. "Need a ride?" Holly started to respond, hesitated, and answered: "Yeah, actually I do."

They walked together to the parking lot, talking about pleasantries: the weather, classes, the slow, creeping freedom from high school adolescence. "I can't believe you signed with West Virginia," Holly teased. "You could've gone anywhere! California, Florida, Hawaii!" Jake chuckled.

"My folks'd miss me too much," he said softly. "Besides, I'm partial to Morgantown."

"You're partial to Morgans," Holly said as she slapped his arm. Jake melted inside.

"Yeah, I guess I am." They drove down the hill, toward the tennis courts, as Holly adjusted her hair. They sat in silence for a couple minutes before she cleared her throat.

"Y'know, I never thanked you," Holly finally spoke.

"For what?" Jake inquired, genuinely unaware.

"For breaking up with me," she responded.

"Dumbest thing I ever did."

"No, it wasn't," she retorted. "I didn't get it at the time, but now I do. You were in the middle of basketball season, struggling with everything, and me, dumb chick that I am, I loved the attention. But I was a big distraction, wasn't I?"

"No, you weren't," Jake said glumly. "I was an idiot. I freaked out."

"No, I know I was," she said confidently. "I can only imagine what I would be doing right now if I had to deal with a relationship on top of everything else. Probably freaking out, too. I can't think of anything but tennis. And I'm killing it, Jake. I'm fricking killing it!"

"You really are," he agreed. She really was. Holly was named 'High School Athlete of the Month', as he had been last December. She was ranked the number one girls' tennis player in the state, and all the school was abuzz with her newfound notoriety. "Where do you think you'll end up?"

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